


A French Tango

by Shut_Up_Marius



Series: Bastille Day Porn [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dancer Grantaire, Fireman Enjolras, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Wildly OC Probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shut_Up_Marius/pseuds/Shut_Up_Marius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire only came to the firemen's ball to have fun and get drunk with his friend. He didn't know he'd meet the hottest fireman in all of Paris.</p><p>To celebrate Bastille Day, I wrote a bit of porn. Happy 14 juillet (Grantaire and Enjolras are certainly enjoying it)!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A French Tango

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how that happened, this is wildly OC, mostly because French firemen are part of the army and Enjolras would never want to be a soldier, and also because you need a clean police record to join the army. Hahaha, like Enjolras has a clean police record in any universe!
> 
> BUT firemen's balls are a thing, lots of sex happen at these parties. And if you want to read a bit more about what they are, here's a little thing I wrote to explain them: http://cecilyrules.livejournal.com/75357.html

« Come ON, Eponine, we'll miss the best part ! » Grantaire whines as he pulls his best friend along behind him.

« And what IS the best part, pray-tell ? » Eponine laughs, purposedly resisting a little.

« The part where there's still free food and drinks available. »

« Oh ! In that case... »

Eponine frees her wrist from Grantaire's hold and skips ahead of him, her knee-length vintage skirt flowing in the wind as she does so. The deep burgundy is starting to get darker as the sun sets behind Paris' buildings and soon its colour will be indistinguishable, but when your best friend insists on wearing a skirt because « the colour looks great against the cream blouse and the waistline makes me look like a sixties pin-up girl », you agree. Especially if it'll get her out of the house faster, considering she still needs to put on make-up and do her hair.

But Eponine looks absolutely stunning with her retro look, and her eyelashes are thicker, darker and longer than is humanly possible. In a word, she's perfect and being almost late to the firemen's ball seems worth it.

It's a shame they can't take their time and appreciate the special mood Paris is in when Bastille Day is around the corner: the flags in various shop windows, on top of the buses, the generally lighter atmosphere. Parisians even consent to wear berets unironically for the occasion. Grantaire doesn't own one and, even if he did, he wouldn't have brought it to an outdoor party where he plans on dancing for hours. No, he's got his house key stuck down his sock and a ten-euro bill to pay the admittance fee. That's it. He knows the party is free but honestly, ten euros for the amount of alcohol and food he plans on inhaling is very cheap.

The weather seems to be on their side, too. The sky is clear, bright orange turning to pink to light purple, and a cooling breeze the party-goers will appreciate when the dance floor is packed makes the urban heat bearable.

When they get to the fire station, led by the music you could hear two streets over, Grantaire slips the money in the barrel by the large gates and greets the firemen outside with a dramatic military salute. Instead of frowning at him like he suspects the men usually would, they click their heels and salute him right back before bowing for Eponine, wide grins on their faces. Ah, le 14 juillet is a beautiful thing.

« Ugh, they are so fit, have you seen them ? » Eponine groans as she hooks her arm under his to walk in.

« I have. Those arm muscles should be illegal. Ideal for wall sex, though. »

« Right ? I could go for that tonight if I find an extra hot fireman, » she says, wriggling her perfect brown eyebrows.

« Insert all the bad puns about your lady parts being on fire, » he chuckles fondly as they make their way through the small crowd that's already here.

Fire brigade stations are a mysterious place ; their access is restricted to personnel only, except on the day of the firemen's ball. Then you can go in and explore, and for that one night, firemen are allowed to let go of their serious persona and actually enjoy a wild party. God knows firemen know how to party. Grantaire has been to a few in his life and he's never gone home disappointed.

This particular station has hung lights all around the huge courtyard, interspaced with garlands of little French flags. Blue, white and red balloons are bound in the little shrubs that surround a makeshift stage where the sound table is put up. There are temporary booths set up around the courtyard, some for special food and some for party games like darts, and the largest bar Grantaire has ever seen runs against the far wall. It's packed with the many victuals he's promised Eponine and it's where they head first.

Eponine gets herself something that looks way too fruity for Grantaire's taste, but the night is young and he plans on seeing the end of it at four the next morning, if only for the early breakfast these nice firemen will provide, so he pours himself a glass of harmless red wine in a plastic cup.

« Shall we dance before we're reduced to ridiculous grinding ? » Grantaire asks after a sip or two.

« Not yet. I'm... enjoying the view, if you know what I mean, » Eponine replies with a tip of the chin towards a group of firemen who look to be in their twenties, too.

« I know exactly what you mean. Why do you think I insisted on taking you to the largest fire station in Paris ? Someone was bound to be to your liking, fireman or otherwise. »

« You're a very generous friend, R, » she replies with only the tiniest bit of sarcasm in her voice as she leans against him. Grantaire's arm naturally slips around her waist. « Your suspenders are digging into my hip, it hurts. Were those really necessary ? »

« I made an effort to coordinate our outfits ! » he cries, indignant. « You're supposed to be very impressed with me and my sense of style. Don't I look dashing ? »

To prove his point, he steps away from his friend and spins on himself, pulling on his suspenders and giving an exaggerated version of The Smoulder. Eponine chokes on her drink, almost spits it out and has to reach for a napkin before she turns back to him. She punches him in the shoulder.

« I almost died, you dick ! »

« You're welcome. No, but seriously, do I look good or what ? » 

Fashion isn't Grantaire's forte, he's too lazy for that. He usually just throws on whatever's clean enough. But tonight he's made an effort and he'd like Eponine to acknowledge he cleaned up well : a white shirt he did his best to iron, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off the respectable tan he acquired roaming the city these past few days, fancy brown slacks he borrowed from Jehan, the infamous suspenders and his dancing shoes. He even tried to tame his hair, but he can already feel a few curls grazing his forehead. That can't be helped.

His best friend stares at him thoughtfully, her eyes going up and down. « Yes, R, yes, you're a little bit good-looking. I'd definitely hit on you tonight if I didn't know you have terrible morning breath. »

« I'm both pleased and insulted, good job, » he says as he toasts her.

After that, people keep on steadily trickling in, young and not-so-young alike. That's the beauty of firemen's balls, too, everyone's welcome and there's something for everyone. Grantaire and Eponine are far enough from their respective places that they don't know anyone, which always facilitates letting go of your inhibitions, and soon enough they're dancing around the courtyard, their glasses abandonned somewhere.

Early on in the night, the DJs always start with the more traditional dances so that older people won't feel completely out of their depth. Firemen's balls are popular parties at the core and, as such, everyone should be able to have a good time, even people over sixty. Grantaire has always been in awe of the elderly ; over the years, he's got fond memories of couples who out-danced him and his spry friends without breaking a sweat, owning the dancefloor like the music gave them life.

Sometimes it's rockabilly, sometimes it's jazz, sometimes it's an honest-to-God valse-musette set to accordion music; Grantaire loves it all. He hasn't got a patriotic bone in his body, really, but the aesthetic of an old-fashioned guinguette appeals to him. His grandmother's love for ballroom dancing and his own love for Renoir are probably to blame for that.

So it's only natural for him to pull Eponine closer when the first notes of a fast-paced tango ring out. Eponine squeaks in surprise but immediately drops down to move her right foot in a large circle around her. It's practically second nature to them at this point ; they met five years ago at Grantaire's first ever tango lesson. His grandmother had just passed away and she'd been a great ballroom dancer, so it was a way for him to keep a bit of their connection. Eponine had been dancing for a year already, but her partner had been a no-show that week and they'd just clicked. The partner had been bumped and Grantaire had made steadfast progress in very little time thanks to Eponine's advice.

They've been dancing together every week since, and the friendship they've forged could rival any childhood friends'. He couldn't tell if the friendship made the dancing better or if it's the other way around, but the general consensus seems to be that their dances are always intense to witness, their passionate fervor almost unbearable when they're truly in the zone. Grantaire personally believes that tango is such a seductive dance anyone can make it hot, but whatever.

It takes only a few bars for people to form a wider circle around them. Grantaire tries to reign in his movements so they don't bowl anyone over, but he's so focused on his partner that he's got trouble evaluating how much room they have, so it's probably for the best if the other dancers hang back a little.

Only when they face off does Grantaire notice the blonde fireman that's looking right at him. If muscle memory wasn't in control, he would've messed up his steps or maybe even tripped Eponine as she did a leg-wrap. Thankfully, it doesn't happen but, ever in tune, she must feel something because the next time their eyes meet, she furrows her eyebrows in a silent question.

« Is the angel in fireman gear looking at me or at you ? The blonde one ? » he pants as he rests his forehead on hers.

A few more turns then, « He's looking at you. Definitely. »

With this crucial piece of information, Grantaire makes sure he keeps on sneaking glances the man's way. Man, golden Adonis, same difference. He makes Michelangelo's David look ugly as sin. The way his blonde hair moves in the slight breeze, the seriousness of his fine traits as his eyes don't leave Grantaire, the glow of his skin, everything about him is gorgeous and Grantaire wants to paint him in a perfect contrapposto.

« Dip me, » Eponine whispers in his ear as she falls into him.

« What ? »

« Dip me, and then spin me off the ground. It'll make your back muscles and your arms stand out. »

« What ?! »

« Just- do as I say, you can thank me later. Make sure you look at Goldilocks. »

« Like I could take my eyes off of him, » he mutters.

He does as she says and dips her. Eponine plays her part well and looks away, which gives Grantaire the perfect opportunity to give the fireman the fierce look he should've directed at her. The semi-darkness makes it hard to tell but he thinks he sees his light-coloured eyes flare for a second. 

After he pulls Eponine back up against his body, he makes sure he's facing him as he lets his hand slowly drag up her leg, over her hip and along her spine. He's got to break eye-contact long enough to lift Eponine off the ground and spin her in his arms, but when he slowly lowers her back to ground, the fireman is still looking at him.

The last notes of the tango ring out and Eponine wraps her leg around Grantaire's hip while leaning away from him, her hand catching on the top of his shirt and effectively ripping the top button off.

« 'Ponine ! » he whines when he hears the soft 'pop', momentarily brought back to earth. People are clapping around them, though, so Eponine curtsies once and Grantaire gives a shy wave.

« Again, you'll thank me later. And I will personally sew this button back on, I promise, » she replies as he leads her back towards the bar. 

There are significantly fewer bottles available now, and plastic cups have started littering the tablecloth, but Grantaire's only interested in water at the moment. Once he's got his breath back, then he'll start on the heavier stuff.

« Goldilocks is still watching you. » Grantaire has no dignity ; he whips around so fast he almost knocks Eponine over.

She's right. They're farther away than during the dance, but the fireman has turned towards them. His expression remains unreadable yet it sends tingles down Grantaire's spine. He gulps the rest of his water in one go, slams the plastic cup on the table and makes to leave.

« I'm going to try something. Wish me luck. »

« Something tells me you won't be needing it, but good luck nonetheless. »

Grantaire walks away from the party and towards the station proper, where he knows he'll find the bathrooms. As he advances, he sneaks glances the fireman's way to make sure he is tracking his moves. He loses sight of him when he walks around the stage. He's just vanished.

Grantaire will not be defeated so easily ; he keeps to his plan and nears the bathrooms. He queues for five minutes before he realises the fireman isn't coming for him. If he pretends to faint, surely he'll have to come and rescue him ? That's what firemen are for! Grantaire sighs ; he should have known someone as beautiful as this guy would never go for him.

Purely out of spite and sexual frustration, he tries to open the door that's directly opposite the bathrooms, the one that says « Entrée interdite ». The handle actually gives way, so he steps inside. No one follows him or says anything to him. Maybe they're scared of getting caught, maybe they think he belongs to the fire brigade. Now there's a funny thought.

The air inside the dark station is pleasant, cooler than outside, and when he spots the many trucks, Grantaire realises he actually just entered the station's depot. Spite has mostly given way to curiosity and wonderment now, a kid in a candy store as he vaguely remembers the fantasy he had of becoming a fireman when he was small.

Everything is silent save from the muffled beat of the music outside and the sound of his feet until he hears other footsteps echo around the large garage. As lightly as he's able, he tiptoes until he's hiding behind the largest truck in the depot ; then he decides he'll bid his time until whoever's here leaves again. He does not want to get thrown out of this party : he's not even a little bit drunk yet.

He leans against the front bumper and resolves himself to a long wait when he sees something move ou of the corner of his eye. When he moves, really slowly in case the person hasn't spotted him, he finds himself face to face with Him.

He's a few feet away and it's dark, but he knows it's him thanks to the fireman's pants and the halo of light hair around his face. Grantaire remains dumb. His heartbeat had calmed down somewhat but now it starts hammering against his chest like he's been dancing for hours. From guilt, from fear, from wanting that man so damn much. He's nervous ; he wishes he'd talk to him just so he could hear his voice.

But the blonde fireman doesn't talk. He takes the last few steps that separate him from Grantaire until he's standing right in front of him, and Grantaire feels hotter than if he was standing before a fireplace. 'Insert all the bad puns about me being on fire', he thinks, remembering the words he said to Eponine earlier.

The man is taller than him, and his eyes are black in the darkness, although he's fairly certain they're actually light-coloured. His hair is so fine it could be spun gold and Grantaire wants to run his fingers through it with the reverence it deserves. His bone structure screams perfection but his mouth is what truly kills Grantaire : sensual, full lips that seem to be stuck in a perpetual pout and a Cupid's bow he'd only ever seen in a Boticelli.

« I'm Enjolras, » he whispers finally, breaking the silence. 

Enjolras.

Grantaire can only nod and look up at this gorgeous apparition until Enjolras is basically standing over him. He smells like almonds and oranges, which may be a combination of his shampoo and what he's been drinking, he's not sure. Enjolras slowly braces a hand on the bumper behind Grantaire and uses the other one to cradle his cheek and before his glorious mouth descends on Grantaire's unworthy one. Now, now he's on fire. Because Enjolras doesn't hold back.

Enjolras crowds him against the truck as his tongue advances and retreats between Grantaire's lips, the intoxicating motion reminding him exactly of what he wants to happen. Enjolras nips at his flesh, gentle then rough, tracing a path from his mouth to his jawline to his neck. Grantaire is being devoured and he's loving it.

He doesn't even try to suppress the moan that bursts out of him, Enjolras should know how much he's enjoying this. He eventually snaps out of the rapture this man has put him under and becomes an active participant, shoving his hand under Enjolras' shirt until he gets the hint and gets rid of it. 

Enjolras is built like a fireman, Grantaire shouldn't have expected anything less, but his body is as stupendous as his face. He takes advantage of the height difference to dip his head a little and kiss his chest, racking his fingers down his musucular torso. Enjolras growls, pushes him back against the truck and starts ravishing him again.

Grantaire appreciates the sentiment, he really does, but he can't shake the feeling that he should be the worshipper here, not Enjolras. So he puts all his strength into pushing him away and manhandles the fireman until he's the one trapped against the vehicle. The movement throws Enjolras enough that Grantaire manages to take the upper hand.

He buries his hands in that fine hair (fucking finally) and crashes their mouths together, only this time he's doing the nibbling and these lips are sinful, he can't get enough of them. Enjolras is moaning, too, now, and he hopes noone's going to interrupt this or he'll die. Or perhaps they'll interrupt and he can pretend they're not there and carry on aggressively making out with Enjolras.

Enjolras alternates between playing with the hem of Grantaire's shirt and just roaming his back. He's driving him crazy with the way he keeps clawing at it, so in the end he just pops the suspenders off and throws his shirt to the floor next to Enjolras'. Everything about him, even his heavy breathing goes directly to Grantaire's cock, it's going to be a problem soon. Or maybe not, because Enjolras arches off the truck after a particularly vicious pull on his hair and he seems to be in the same state as him.

Grantaire can tell Enjolras notices his arousal as well because he suddenly moans and untangles himself from him. He keeps a hand in his brown curls, though, as if he's reluctant to completely let go.

« I want to touch you, » he murmurs brokenly. « Can I- ? »

« Yes. Yes, of course. Jesus, » Grantaire swears, his voice hoarse.

« You haven't told me your name, » Enjolras asks as he makes quick work of his fly, nipping along his jawline.

« Grantaire. »

« Grantaire- The way you dance- God, I don't even know- » 

Enjolras doesn't make sense but even if he did, Grantaire probably wouldn't be able to comprehend him because the most beautiful man alive is pushing his slacks and boxers down his legs.

« Yeah, you seem to really like dancing, » he manages to articulate, and a bright laugh bursts out of the fireman. He muffles it against Grantaire's shoulder and kisses him there when he's in control again. « I want to touch you, too. »

« God, yes. »

Enjolras has shoved down his pants to mid-thigh (no underwear, Grantaire's brain is going to explode) before Grantaire has even had time to reach for them, but he can't complain because the second he realises, Enjolras wraps his long, deliciously rough fingers around his cock and starts stroking him.

His gut reaction is to do the same for the fireman, who swallows down a groan but grabs the back of Grantaire's neck, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. Grantaire is holding onto Enjolras' impressive bicep while he pumps him with his other hand, relishing the way this marvellous cock keeps on swelling for him.

Grantaire doesn't remember the last time he's been this hard. Then again, a Greek god's never given him a handjob before, so maybe the answer to that is 'never'. He amends this to a 'yeah, definitely never' when he takes that extra step between Enjolras' legs that enables him to take them both in hand. The contact is electrifying and Enjolras relinquishes control right away, lets Grantaire take them where they both want to go, happy to simply gasp his name in his ear.

« Grantaire. Grantaire. » It's the most erotic sound he's ever heard, his head is spinning.

It goes on for a while, the grinding and gliding against each other, and Enjolras joins in a some point so that both their lips and their hands are joined. Their eyes are locked in the dark, too, like a lifeline. But soon it's not enough anymore.

« I've got to- I'm sorry, I've got to have you in my mouth, please let me- » Grantaire starts ranting, but Enjolras cuts him off with a short, bruising kiss.

« Yeah. » His eyes are clouded with lust and he looks almost pained. Grantaire can relate.

He drops to his knees and nothing's ever felt as right as the weight of Enjolras' cock on his tongue the first time he takes him in his mouth. He's done with worship, they have to take this need where it needs to go. 

It's the most committed blowjob Grantaire has even given. He relaxes his jaw, takes Enjolras as far as he can go, uses his tongue the best he knows how, helps with his hands. When his middle finger slithers down behind Enjolras' perineum, the fireman all but throws one leg over Grantaire's shoulder, clearly inviting him to take this further. He can hear his head thud on the bumper behind him as he pulls on his hair.

Grantaire's finger grazes Enjolras' anus, teasingly pushes down, all while he keeps on bobbing his head on Enjolras' cock. The man is moaning his encouragements as quietly as he can but soon the pleasure gets too intense for him to keep up the steady stream of words and Enjolras tries to pull him off with a « Grantaire, I'm going to- » but Grantaire just redoubles his efforts until Enjolras finally spends on his tongue.

He keeps him in his mouth while he shudders through his orgasm, shaking thighs under his hands and trembling fingers carding through his brown curls. Grantaire's not big on swallowing but this is Enjolras and somehow it doesn't feel as disgusting. When he stands back up his knees are screaming at him but it's all worth it when Enjolras engulfs him in his strong arms and kisses him.

« My turn, » he grins when he pulls back.

But the fireman has barely lowered himself to the floor that Grantaire has already come with a grunt. All it took was Enjolras' hand on his cock and a seductive look through his eyelashes. Grantaire groans again when Enjolras licks the one white stripe he landed on his hand, and again when he leans down to plant soft little kisses along his softening shaft. 

« That's cheating, » Enjolras says as he stands back up, but the grin on his face tells Grantaire that he isn't really mad at him.

« Come back to mine, I'll make it up to you, I swear. »

« I can't. » Enjolras can probably see Grantaire's frown in the dark because he tacks on, « I have to be up at 6:30 tomorrow morning : I'm marching in the parade down the Champs Elysées. You should come see me there and then we can... see how we'd like to spend the rest of my day off. »

« I could show you some of my dance moves. »

Enjolras bursts out laughing again. Grantaire really enjoys this sound. « That's absolutely one of the things you could do. » He kisses him. « We can decide what else should happen tomorrow. »

Grantaire leaves the fire station five hours later, all danced-out, not as drunk as he'd anticipated and with a phone number scribbled on the palm of his hand. So does Eponine, but that's another story.


End file.
